


Mostly Dead All Day

by schemingreader



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Childhood Sexual Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Princess Bride References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schemingreader/pseuds/schemingreader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's not a man of them who doesn't wish he were in your place, and not a man of them who has the courage to reach for another's hand that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mostly Dead All Day

It wasn't something Clint thought about when he was living through it. When his parents died, he only thought about how he and Barney were going to survive—get along in the orphanage, get away from the orphanage, get along in the circus. He thought a lot about who was reliable, and how reliable. Barney wasn't, much. His parents hadn't been. 

He hadn't thought about how one aspect of not having parents was that few people touched him who weren't demanding something from him. Especially adults. 

He did a lot to look tough, to put them off. Starting when he was a teenager, he lifted weights to get nice and big. He needed an adult body as soon as he could get one, so that only people who wanted sex with other adults would grab him by the meat of his upper arm to pull him aside, that way they did. 

It had been years since he'd had to head butt or crotch-kick a molester. He had learned a lesson or two, no thanks to his brother. He learned to defend himself. It helped him when he became a SHIELD agent. 

It was why he was such an idiot with women. He knew it. He knew that he was starved for touch, and terrified of it. He knew that he was easy, sometimes a little sexually compulsive, too eager to fuck. He knew that his inability to deal with intimacy fucked up every relationship. What he craved was what he couldn't have. 

He'd probably die alone. 

Natasha knew it too. He knew precisely why she didn't sleep with him. She loved him, so she didn't touch him. 

When he came to on the pavement after that last fight the Avengers had with AIM, he was somehow surprised that there was someone sitting with him. He could feel the warmth of the other person's body. They hadn't moved him, probably because of fear of spinal injury. On the edge of consciousness, he felt a large, warm, dry hand slipping into his. It had to be a man's hand, because it was too large for a woman. Natasha was tiny, and she wasn't the hand holding type. 

But who was it? Not Stark—he couldn't stand to sit still like that. Not Banner, even if he'd come down from his Hulk-out—Banner was like Clint. He tried not to touch people at all, poor guy. Clint noticed things like that. 

He hurt so much. How did he always forget this part? He must have broken everything again. He wanted to cough but he was sure he'd bring up a piece of a lung.

"Clint? Can you hear me, buddy?" Brooklyn voice, low and a little rough—Captain America.

"Yeah," Clint said, clearing his throat. "Yeah. Hi Steve." 

"Glad you're back in the land of the living." He said it like a joke. He was so old-fashioned. 

Clint didn't move his hand, and Steve kept holding it. 

"You're gonna be OK," Steve said. "I'm going to stay with you until the ambulance comes." 

"Thanks, Cap," Clint said thickly. His nose prickled, like he might cry. "Was I out long?"

"Nah, a minute or two maybe." 

"Probably cracked my ribs again," Clint said. He tried to get his eyes to focus. 

"You're all right," Steve said. That meant he was hurt really bad, didn't it? 

Not that Steve lied. He just said things in order to make them come true. 

The paramedics came. Steve was going to have to let him go. He didn't though—not right away. They positioned the stretcher and Steve kept his hand there, definitely holding on. Clint squeezed his hand, and shut his eyes, and let him go. He tried to relax as he was borne away. 

* * *

When Clint got out of the hospital, he went back to his own apartment. It took a month before he heard anything from the old Avengers. 

He knew who it was soon as the phone rang. 

"Hello?"

"Hello Clint, this is Steve Rogers calling." 

"Hi Steve," Clint said, pretending other people sometimes called his landline and he needed to know which of them it was. "What's up?"

"Thought we'd have a little get-together for team bonding," Steve said. "That's what Tony calls it. I think he wants to play poker."

"I am not playing poker with you and Tony Stark," Clint said. 

"And Bucky and Natasha," Steve added. 

"Yeah, no," Clint said. "I'd love to see you guys, but I never start a land war in Asia, and I never gamble with a Sicilian when death is on the line." 

Steve snorted. "Another movie reference, right? Which one, can we watch it?"

That was how Clint knew Cap really wanted him to come. Cap wasn't usually a big fan of movie night, and he'd have had a job talking Tony into The Princess Bride. 

Clint couldn't say no to Captain America—not really. Even if it had been poker. Even if the evening's entertainment had been watching Tony play chess with Reed Richards, Clint would have come.

Tony had an enormous sectional sofa of the kind that was popular in the 1980s that take up half the room with cushioned footstools. It was white. It kind of glowed when Tony had JARVIS dim the lights. Of course he had some kind of crazy theater setup. Of course—all classy, but with a microwave oven beeping somewhere behind them. 

"I put Logan in charge of the popcorn," Natasha said. "He's picky." She indicated his spot on the couch with little tilt of her chin. Clint sat down next to Steve, who grinned at him. 

It must have been a thing in the 1930s and 40s, for kids to hold hands in the movies, because as soon as Clint was leaning back, Steve slid his arm through Clint's and slotted their fingers together. 

Clint's face heated but he guessed that this was a frozen-in-time cultural practice thing and that he should just go with it. He looked up at the screen and took handfuls of popcorn with his other hand. Cap laughed a lot at the intro. 

Clint was as usual more exhausted than he thought. He fell asleep with his head on Cap's shoulder and his arm around Natasha, just before the climactic sword fight scene. It was all right—swords brought back bad memories anyway. When he woke up, no one razzed him, even though he was still holding Steve's hand.

It's good to be friends with Captain America. If he wants to hold your hand in the movies, no one is ever going to say anything about it. There's not a man of them who doesn't wish he were in your place, and not a man of them who has the courage to reach for another's hand that way. Every single one of them understands what it is to replace your cold, cruel or missing father, your treacherous, absent brother, with a good friend who understands what it's like to be alone. Most of the heroes keep it buried so far down that they don't even realize they want it—the warm, strong, good and undemanding hand holding theirs. Steve Rogers knows.

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/7293.html?thread=13313405#t13313405) on the Avenger Kink meme. Prompter requested non-sexual handholding, "Can be friendship, romantic friendship, romantic relationship, but not between two people with a sexual relationship, heading towards a sexual relationship, or really any interest in having a sexual relationship with the other." The title is from a line in _The Princess Bride_ (1987). Rexluscus graciously beta-read this, but all errors are mine.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Mostly Dead All Day (podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/870604) by [seramirez (boxofdelights)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxofdelights/pseuds/seramirez)




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